


A Dream That One Night Came A-Knockin'

by HarbingerofWhimsy (WhimsicalCivet)



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Daydreaming, F/M, Implied Voyeurism, Masturbation, Outdoor Sex, Prompt Fic, Sex Dreams, Sexual Fantasy, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 22:00:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4803776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimsicalCivet/pseuds/HarbingerofWhimsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's bad enough that he desires her: the Herald of Andraste, a woman he barely knows. But to fantasize about her in this way? </p><p>That almost feels like sacrilege. </p><p>From a prompt: "Cullen's first naughty daydream of f!Inquisitor."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dream That One Night Came A-Knockin'

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt from a Cullenites facebook group for Cullen Prompt Week: "Cullen's first naughty daydream of f!Quiz."
> 
> A little more explicit than my work so far. 
> 
> Thanks to Felandaris for lending me some pointers!
> 
> Edit: Now with art by InannaAthanasia! The (obviously) nsfw art can be found here: http://fav.me/d9a3jvw

It didn't occur to Cullen to find her attractive when he first saw her. She was dirty—covered in blood and earth and ash—wounded, unconscious on a cot and dying even as Solas struggled to heal everything from burns to gashes to the glowing mark on her hand. Her every breath a mere step-up from a death rattle, he didn't expect her to last long enough for anything approaching a proper interrogation, much less something as ridiculous as _admiring a potential mass-murderer_. So he reacted accordingly, shifting his focus to other, more immediate problems.  
  
There was the newly named 'Breach' in the sky, for one. The Divine was dead, as was everyone else who'd been inside the Temple of Sacred Ashes upon its detonation by unknown enemies. The war among mages and templars raged on, unchecked by the jagged tear above everyone's heads or the as-yet-uncounted number of smaller rifts across the countryside spewing out demons. Haven was about as defensible as a kitten. And then there was his decision to stop taking lyrium.  
  
Andraste preserve him, he barely had time to take a _piss_.  
  
When they finally moved the prisoner to her cell in the dungeon, things weren't much better. The woman was still unconscious, though cleaned up from when she'd first been dragged into Haven. The gloom of the dungeon hid anything more than a flash of freckled skin, unless he wanted to get closer. _Not that I do, and not that it matters_ , he thought as he stalked out. What did the color of her hair matter when he had demons to kill and an army to build?  
  
Then she found him in the mountains. In such good light, he barely recognized the red-headed woman fighting alongside Cassandra, though he was hardly inclined to question his good fortune. A tingle raced along Cullen's skin, lifting the hairs on the back of his neck, when the air thickened with magic. The woman bared her teeth, haloed in green light like something out of legend as she raised a hand to seal the rift. A feeling long buried deep thudded hard in his chest. Merely his body's reaction to powerful magic, and nothing more.

* * *

  
  
When they finally met, _truly_ met, it was around the War Table in Haven. She didn't cower in front of him—unusual for a mage being confronted by a templar in such close quarters. Instead, she met his gaze without fear. Grey-green locked with molten gold as the voices around him faded away. She had a faint, pale scar from forehead to cheekbone, neatly bisecting her right brow. _Old. A knife wound... or a sword, perhaps. A templar blade?_ Her lips curled tentatively into a smile. He found himself mimicking her expression without thought, feeling strangely flushed.  
  
He didn't allow himself to study her too long: not her braided hair, or the way her cheeks tinted pink amongst the freckles. Certainly not on the soft curves under her clothing, or the way she drummed long fingers on the wood of the table. Yet he found his gaze drawn back to her over and over again, watching her reactions. He spared a moment to be grateful for how well she seemed to be taking what was surely an overwhelming situation for her.  
  
She wasn't afraid, and she was willing to fight for the Inquisition. That was enough.  
  
It wasn't until _weeks_ later that he made the connection. Standing beside him, watching the troops train, she shot him a side-long glance and a smirk. Cheeks flushed from the cold, errant strands of hair tugged loose from their tie by the wind, she could have rolled straight out of bed... or someone's arms. Heat curled in his belly, followed by a familiar hardening between his legs.  
  
The realization had him slamming down walls in his mind, closing off any further train of thought. It was all he could do to stammer out an excuse before taking his leave from her as quickly as possible, leaving her to stare at his back, confused by his abrupt retreat. Striding away, he took refuge inside the privacy of the tent meant for meetings with his soldiers or when he needed a moment of peace. The tent flap fluttered shut behind him, the cool darkness a balm to his flushed skin as his thoughts began to race.  
  
She was potentially the leader of their Inquisition, as well as the _Herald:_ a near-holy figure. From what he knew of her, what he'd _seen_ and _heard_ as he got to know her better, she was someone good and bright, not yet spoiled by people like him with broken, bloodstained hands. She was destined for something great, and their only hope of closing the Breach. She needed friends and neutral council: people who could advise with a clear mind and an impartial hand.  
  
And he _desired_ her.  
  
"Fuck," he whispered, fists clenching so hard the leather of his gloves creaked. He rarely swore, save when the circumstance called for it, which the current situation most certainly did. This could complicate things, a trap of a magnitude greater than the one surrounding his boyish yearning for Amell all those years ago. He ground his palm against his eye.  
  
"Fuck," he repeated quietly.

* * *

  
  
Fortunately, as an ex-Templar, he had years of discipline on his side. Any thought deemed inappropriate was stamped down violently as soon as it came to mind. Referring to her only by title, he refused to seek the Herald out, spending no more time with her than absolutely necessary. While it was a decent plan to starve his attraction to her until it withered away, he regretted the casualty that was the fragile, tentative new friendship between them _._ It helped that they were both so busy. Their conversations rarely had time to stray to more personal topics, despite her efforts to drag out bits and pieces of his—reluctantly shared—history. Yet she seemed unperturbed, tracking him down again and again; had him tripping over his own words as she teased him about _vows_ and _lectures_. It only made it worse, because now there was the niggling hope that perhaps his desire could be returned rather than rejected.  
  
He countered by finding even more tasks to fill his time, until she could get little conversation from him at all, clearly perplexed at his quick withdrawal from discussion where he'd been open before. They danced around each other constantly, circling and retreating, his avoidance warring with her determination to solve this new puzzle. He knew he could only hide from her so long. Her stubbornness when faced with a challenge was already becoming known among the soldiers who'd spent time in the Hinterlands, where she'd tracked down everything from magical shards to someone's _colored goat_. He shouldn't have been surprised when she finally cornered him in the War Room.  
  
"May I have a moment, Commander?" She didn't wait for his answer, waving Leliana and Josephine out, shutting the door behind them after murmuring her goodbyes. She turned, leaning her back against the solid oak, and regarded him silently from across the room.  
  
He frowned at her, unnerved by her uncharacteristic stillness. "Was there something you needed?" he asked carefully, schooling his tone into something cool and distant.  
  
"Have I done something to upset you, Cullen?" She tilted her head, his name rather than his role a clear attempt to make the conversation more personal. He resisted the urge to soften his stance. He _must_ stand firm.  
  
"Why would you think that, Herald?"  
  
She winced, body stiffening at the title. "Because you've been avoiding me and I'd like to fix whatever I've done to cause it."  
  
Cullen's eyes widened. He'd thought she'd merely find fault with him: write him off as fickle, unworthy of her time. He'd never wanted her to blame herself.  
  
"Look," she continued, not meeting his eyes. "I get it; some people just don't get along, and you can't always say, 'Yes, I find you annoying, please leave me alone.'" She straightened against the door, finally glancing up. "If you just aren't... I'd just been hoping we could become friends at some point. I know my mark probably makes me the _last_ person anyone would want to spend time with, but I—"  
  
"That's not it." He couldn't let her go on, interrupting her before he could stop himself. "Not at all." He sighed, tightening his fingers on the edge of the table. Cruel of him to behave this way, to avoid her when she no doubt felt alone, forced into a role she hadn't asked for, surrounded by strangers and far away from home. And he'd just pulled away: one of the few friendly faces she'd grown accustomed to. He'd been acting like a _child._ He couldn't deprive her of what little comfort he could offer simply because of his own weakness—a weakness surely under control by now.  
  
"I am... unused to friendship," Cullen said softly, circling around the table to approach her. She pushed off from the door, straightening to face him. He stopped just short of her, nostrils flaring as he caught a touch of her scent. He shook it off. "It was nothing you've done. I apologize if my actions made you think otherwise."  
  
"Apology accepted." She smiled, arms relaxing from behind her back. Her eyes were brighter this close, he realized, and there was a tiny scar at the corner of her left eye, barely noticeable. "We're all getting used to _something_ new." Her hand reached out, gripping his arm gently. It was a friendly, thoughtless gesture: the kind she no doubt gave to countless others.  
  
It was also the first time she'd touched him. He swore he could feel the heat of her hand burning through his armor, sinking down into his bones. He cleared his throat as his heart pounded, lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck. "Some of us more than others," he said dryly. Her laughter dissolved the remaining tension in the room as she went to leave.  
  
She tugged the door open, pausing to glance back. She raised a brow. "See you in the dining hall tonight?" The friendly offer underlying the question was easy enough to read, if cautiously presented.  
  
_'I'd been hoping we could become friends,'_ she'd said.  
  
He should say no. He had things to do, reports to go over, maps to update. He ate over his desk while studying troop movements most nights, if he ate at all. And this offer of hers... He knew if he turned her down here and now, she wouldn't approach him like this again. It was the perfect out, and he'd be wise to take it.  
  
"Of course, Herald." He eyed the wall, contemplated pounding his head against it.  
  
She shook her head with a snort, and as she stepped out the door, her words drifted back to him. "You don't have to call me Herald, Cullen."

* * *

  
  
_"May I have a moment, Commander?" Her voice was soft, drawing his attention away from the maps spread across the War Room table in front of him. He glanced up, his body warming as a flush crawled across his cheeks. She was dressed in an old tunic and trousers, hair unbound for the evening. The first few laces of her shirt were undone, revealing her pale throat, collarbone, the top of her breasts to his hungry eyes. His gaze drifted lower, lingering on her breasts, unbound beneath the worn fabric of her shirt. Clearly she'd been preparing for bed before tracking him down here._  
  
_She huffed in amusement, reaching back to lock the door before she moved further into the room. The dim light of the candles was flattering on her, bringing out threads of gold in her hair as she sauntered towards him. His eyes shot back up to hers guiltily, embarrassed at being caught so enthralled. "Was there something you needed?" he managed stiffly, straightening up._  
  
_She circled the table until she stood in front of him, too close for comfort. He could feel the heat of her body radiating outwards, calling to him like a siren's song. He startled at the cool hand she lifted to his jaw, the thumb that brushed over his lips. "Oh, this and that," she murmured._  
  
_"Herald—" he whispered, desperate for distance. She'd gotten closer, or maybe he'd leaned in. At some point one of his arms had wound round her waist. His gloves... his gloves were gone and he could feel the burning of her skin through her tunic where his hand fisted in the cloth._  
  
_"You don't have to call me that here," she said. And then she kissed him._  
  
_He groaned, eyes falling shut at the sensation of her lips, her body under his. It had been so long and it felt so good, too good as her fingers dragged over his skin, through his hair. His mouth pried hers open so he could slip his tongue inside and taste her for the first time, a sweep across her palate, as he pressed her back to the War Table, scattering markers as she leaned back, tugging him down with her—_  
  
He jolted awake with a silent gasp. His body burned, the sheets grating at sensitive, sweat-soaked skin, and it took him a moment to regain a sense of his surroundings. When he did, he froze, hardly daring to breathe as he waited to see if he would be discovered.  
  
Cassandra's snores, Josephine's quiet snuffles, had him breathing a sigh of relief. Not for the first time, he cursed his decision to take one of the three beds in the hastily converted bedchamber just off the War Room. At the _time_ it had seemed like a good idea: comfort and proximity combined, and he'd long-since become used to sleeping around others thanks to years in the Barracks.  
  
But now, with his length hard and aching against the front of the loose trousers he wore to sleep, he was reminded of one of the downsides of close-quarters living.  
  
He rolled over with a huff, burying his face in his pillow, ignoring the urge to grind down into the mattress. He would get through this. Sleep would come, and he would not think of her _—_  
  
_Quivering beneath him, his name a prayer on her lips as he licked a stripe down her throat. His breath came faster as he chuckled, "Stay quiet, or you'll wake them," before he settled his weight over her, uncaring of the others in the room, rocking forward, seeking the heat that—_  
  
He bit into his pillow with a hiss, halting his hips where they'd begun to roll against the mattress. His whole body throbbed in retaliation, punishing him for refusing to find relief. Not since he was young and foolish had a dream wound him up this badly. Now everything scratched and made it _worse_ , the sheets, the blankets, the cool air on his back.  
  
_Her mouth along his spine as she worked her way down, heedless of him trying to ignore her, her fingers sliding into his hair and running across his scalp in a way that had his hair standing on end, his hips bucking and grinding down as he bit back a moan. "Sure you don't want to take this somewhere more private?"_  
  
Cullen snarled quietly, lips curling as he forced his body to a halt once more, denying himself any pleasure. He held himself still, hoping his arousal might begin to ebb. The answering throb between his legs confirmed his fear: this wasn't going away, and if he wanted to sleep quietly tonight, he needed to take care of it _soon_.  
  
Well, if he was going to deal with a problem like _this_ , he certainly wasn't going to do it here.

* * *

  
He was lucky he had a cloak, and not _just_ because it allowed him to keep his... _situation_ under wraps. He only had to throw a nod to the guards on the walls before they left him be as he slipped out the gates and past quiet tents full of snoring occupants, heading for the dark forest at the edge of Haven. Fortunately, the sight of the Commander taking a late-night stroll was not an unusual occurrence, though few knew it was nightmares that so often drove him to prowl the muddy paths of the small town. The forest was the only place he could think of that might provide a little privacy. The thought of being caught jerking himself off behind a building somewhere, the Herald's name on his lips, grated at him almost as much as his current predicament.  
  
The full orb of the moon was high, casting light down onto the graying snow and illuminating his path. Each step was a reminder of the heavy weight between his legs, and by the time he reached the treeline, he was soaked with sweat, shivering from more than cold as he moved further into the trees. He refused to stop until he was certain he was alone, out of sight of any prying eyes.  
  
When he felt he'd gone far enough, he stumbled, desperately tearing off his cloak and his tunic, relishing the lingering bite of late winter on his burning skin. He leaned back against an old oak, letting it scrape and dig: his penance, his punishment come the morrow. He cupped himself gently through his trousers, letting out a groan as he throbbed, pleasure crawling up his spine. His other hand fumbled with his laces. He'd have this done quick and simple, allow himself no more thought than when taking care of any other need.  
  
_He kissed her hungrily as he backed her up against the tree, reveling in the way her tongue twined with his own as he ground his hips against hers, his hand rising to cradle one of her delightful breasts. She mewled into his mouth. She was perfect, warm and soft and_ —  
  
He snatched his hand away as if he'd been burned, letting his head thud back against the bark. No, he would _not_ think of the Herald this way, he would not—  
  
_"I thought I told you," she murmured, drawing his head down to press her lips to his, swallowing his whimper of protest. He tried to resist, settling his hands on her hips to push her away, but the softness of her skin had him sliding his hands up under her shirt instead, helpless in the face of his need for her. "You don't have to worry about that here. Please, Cullen."_  
  
_He tugged his mouth away with a gasp, the flash of her eyes, dark and hungry, barely registering before he dove for her neck, mouthing and biting, letting his tongue rest flat against her pounding pulse as she clenched a hand in his hair. She wanted him. His voice was hoarse when he managed to speak, "What are you doing to me?"_  
  
A sharp sound tore from his throat as he finally gave in to his thoughts, sagging, burning under the weight of his lurid imaginings.  
  
_She kissed him again, her hands darting down to the edge of his shirt, sliding up painfully slowly until she could tug it over his head. Her lips grazed his neck, making him sigh in pleasure, before her tongue swiped warm and wet just under his jaw. He shuddered when she traveled lower, her mouth meandering along his collarbone to his chest._  
  
He licked his fingers before letting them trail down over his chin, his neck, following the path her mouth would take, scratching here and there to mimic the bite of her teeth. He paused over one flat nipple, pinching as his head lolled back, as he imagined—  
  
_She latched on, sucking gently as her fingers hooked into his trousers, thumb rubbing along the crest of his hip bone before her lips jumped to his belly. All the while he groaned, hissed, buried his hands in her hair so often bound back, now undone and spilling over her shoulders, tickling along his skin._  
  
_"Does this count as sacrilege, I wonder?" she said playfully, scraping her teeth over his belly, making him jerk._  
  
His hand slid past his belly to push his trousers down his hips.  
  
_Her lips met the fabric's edge along his waist and she glanced up to meet his gaze through hooded eyes. She tugged questioningly at the hem, raising an eyebrow._  
  
His hand paused there once more, a shiver racking his frame. This... no, not like this.  
  
_"Sure you're not interested in this part, Commander?" she chuckled, leaning forward to breathe along his aching length through the fabric._  
  
"No," he growled.  
  
_"No," he repeated, tugging her up until he could kiss her, devour her, his tongue delving into the mouth she opened eagerly for him before he pulled away. "I want you, now." He rocked forward, grinding his hips to hers, letting her feel what she'd been doing to him._

 _Together, they tugged off her shirt, shoved her trousers and his down with eager hands. He groaned when he realized she'd been wearing nothing beneath, backing her up against the tree, covering her with his body._  
  
_From this angle, he could drop to his knees if he wanted, could bury his mouth between her legs and_ —  
  
He shied away from that thought as well, from the intimacy it implied. It was almost a shock when he finally took himself in hand, and he swallowed a moan as he started a leisurely rhythm, pumping slowly.  
  
_He lifted her up, grinding himself along her wet core. He took pleasure in listening to her sigh his name, so wonderfully responsive in his arms. She carded the fingers of one hand through his hair as she dipped her other hand between them and took hold of him just enough to align their bodies._  
  
He lifted his hand again and spat, slicking his hand before curling his fingers around his length once more, cock throbbing as he did his best to mimic what he couldn't have, what he truly _wanted_.  
  
_He thrust forward, burying himself in her heat with a snarl. They hovered there for a moment, neither moving as Cullen panted. She finally squeezed her legs around his hips, a silent plea. Pulling back with a shudder before rolling forward, he began to set a fast pace, pounding into her with little finesse. A tryst in the woods was no place for elegance. Even so, he curled his fingers behind her head, trying to shield her from the scratch of the bark as she threw her head back in pleasure._  
  
He began to twist on the upstroke, letting out a whine when the change had his ass clenching, muscles tightening. One hand lifted, bringing his fingers to his mouth to suck, pressing down lightly on his own tongue.  
  
_"Cullen, ah!" He shifted her higher at her sounds, changing the angle. And then he bent to do what he'd wanted to since he saw her that morning. His mouth closed over the tip of one of her breasts, lapping and tasting, enjoying the full weight of her on his tongue as his hand shifted to explore her other breast, scratching his callused fingers over her nipple. She tasted like salt and skin, like a summer thunderstorm and he wanted more. Her teeth nipped hard at his earlobe in retaliation, nails raking red lines across his back._  
  
He cried out, jerking up into his own grip, feeling himself coil tighter, closer, chasing that feeling as where he was and where he wanted to be began to blur. His body shivered and trembled, and for a moment, he thought his legs might give out, dumping him into the snow.  
  
_Her hands in his hair, tilting his head back up. Her lips on his, sighing, keening, warm and affectionate and hungry for him as he dropped a hand between them, seeking out the spot that would throw them over that peak together._  
  
He panted desperately, back arching, trying to find just the right rhythm, his mind jumping between images and phantom sensations as his balls pulled up tight.  
  
_Her hands on his neck, his shoulders, twisting in his hair as she writhed, his name spilling from her lips._  
  
_Marks along her throat for all to see, left by his mouth, his teeth._  
  
_The smell of vanilla and burning sand, sharp and metallic._  
  
_Her velvet heat, his face buried against her throat, between her breasts. Curled up close behind her. Warm. Safe. Good._  
  
_"Cullen..."_  
  
"Guinevere!" he gasped, bucking helplessly into his own hand as he spilled himself, barking out his pleasure. Release burned through him like a wildfire, curling his toes in his boots as ecstasy pulsed in waves, taking his mind far, far away.  
  
He sagged against the tree, panting and wheezing as his heartbeat began to slow. He grimaced at the mess on his hand and belly, wobbling to kneel, wiping his spend off in the snow as best he could. Already, guilt was beginning to gnaw at him as he snatched up his tunic, tugging it back on with short, sharp movements before plucking his cloak out of the snow. "Some discipline," he grumbled, lip curling in distaste as he half-heartedly kicked snow over the evidence of his weakness.  
  
He'd tried to stay away, and he'd failed. He'd tried to deal with his own body without using her, and he'd _failed_. Maker's breath, at the end, he could have sworn he actually heard her calling his name.  
  
_Pathetic._ He blew out a heavy sigh, weariness dragging at his limbs as he began the march back to Haven. Hopefully, everyone would still be asleep, and he'd be able to slip back to his bed without notice.

* * *

 

Guinevere dropped back down behind the rocks that had been hiding her so adequately, lifting her hand to bite at a knuckle, muffling her sounds. She forced herself to ignore the intense throbbing between her legs _._  
  
"What could go wrong following those footprints?" she muttered, smacking her forehead with a fisted hand. "No, it's a brilliant idea. Just a few minutes and I'll head back and maybe I'll be able to sleep. Damn it."  
  
That _had_ been the plan: one she'd stuck to at first. Following the footprints, climbing over a cairn to get a good look at where they led rather than risk coming upon whoever had made the tracks. Of course, how could she have known that a stroll through the woods to combat a bit of sleeplessness would turn into catching her Commander, lips parted, flushed skin shining in the moonlight, harsh moans and growls echoing through the trees as he pleasured himself?  
  
She hadn't been able to stop herself from breathing his name as soon as she saw him, and hadn't _that_ been a reaction? Her name—her _actual_ name—on his tongue, the realization that he was thinking about _her_ as he came.  
  
"Well," she sighed, dropping her head back. "At least I'm not the only one with this problem."


End file.
